


Apology Accepted

by Always_Dreaming



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, Iannone fancies Rossi, Lorannone, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Dreaming/pseuds/Always_Dreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iannone goes round to apologise to Lorenzo for taking him out of the race in Barcelona and events take a kinky turn. Contains very bad impressions of Italian and Spanish accents.<br/>This is not a cute or sweet story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apology Accepted

Barcelona 2016

 

Someone knocked on the door of Jorge’s motorhome in the late evening and he looked up from the television and his glass of beer. _All I want is to relax after the hard day and have some peace and quiet! This whole weekend has been hell and I’ve had enough._

He hobbled to the door of his motorhome, prepared to get rid of the visitor as soon as possible. When he opened it however, Iannone stood there, shifting from foot to foot on the step.

“Yes?” _This is the last person I want to see right now._

“I’ve come to, er—to—er—apologise for the crash today.”

Jorge folded his arms and looked at him. The tall Italian glanced down at his leg, which he was holding up to keep his painful ankle off the floor.

“I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.”

Jorge raised his eyebrows and sighed.

“What more you want me to say? I am the stupid fool, it is all my fault. Please forgive me. You want me on my knees begging?”

Jorge rolled his eyes then wished he hadn’t as it made him feel dizzy. “Come in, then.” He hobbled to the fridge to get some more beers for both of them. He knew he shouldn’t be drinking alcohol as well as taking painkillers but his conclusion on this subject was: _Fuck it. This weekend can’t get any worse._

“You look awful.” Iannone gulped beer from his bottle.

“Thanks..! So would you if I made you crash like that!”

They discussed the technical aspects of the crash over many more beers.

“So, Marc-a made up with Vale, uh?” slurred Iannone later. “When will _you_ make it up with him?”

“Never. He made my title last year like a mockery, yes? He made me look a fool.”

“Oh, come on, he didn’t! Your argument has gone on too long now. You need to make up with him like Marc-a did.”

“I’m not going to crawl to him.”

“You don’t have to crawl, just make up.”

“But what would I say?”

“How about, _I forgive you, Vale?_ Like that?” He winked, laughing.

“But I don’t!” Jorge tried to frown but it was hard to focus.

“Okay, you would say, _dear Vale, I know you are obsessed with winning your tenth title, but you must see I won fairly last year. It is a fresh chance this year, let’s put the past behind us._ ”

“Write me a script if you’re so good at this! You’ve had more experience apologising than me!”

Iannone glared but Jorge just laughed at him.

“Okay, I will be you, you can be Vale.” He put on a deeper, Spanish voice. “I am Jorge Lorenzo, the proud Majorcan.” He stood up in a macho pose, arms flexed.

“I’m not a bullfighter, you fool.” Jorge smiled.

“Now, you do him.”

Jorge put on a high Italian voice. “Erm—I am—erm—Valentino Rossi. I am very ‘appy with myself, I win every race to humiliate my team mate, whose name is You’re Gay.”

“You’re Gay?” Iannone laughed rather too loudly and sat down on the sofa.

“He always calls me You’re Gay. Cal pointed it out to me. He is insulting me, yes?”

Iannone flapped his hand. “It is no matter. Continue.”

“I am Valentino Rossi, I am only your friend-a til you beat me. Remember that.”

Iannone put on the deep Spanish voice again. “I want to say, Vale, that I forgive you for riding better than me. My Spanish pride stopped me from saying that until now, but—”

“You’re crap at being me—” Jorge began but his tormenter held up his finger.

“Stay in character!”

Jorge cursed him under his breath.

“We will start again and be sensible. Sit there, I knock at your door.” Iannone shuffled along the sofa and knocked on the table.

“Ye-es?” said Jorge in the high Italian voice again. “‘Ow can I help you? Do you 'ave-a my tenth championship trophy in your 'and-a?”

“It is I, Jorge, the proud Majorcan. I come to make it up with you, my dear team mate, yes?”

“I am-a your dear team mate all of a sudden? What are you talking about-a?” Jorge laughed. Everything seemed so amusing at the moment, despite the difficult weekend.

“I am a proud man and it hurts me so badly to come here today,” Iannone moved closer to him. “But I must apologise for getting involved in your trial and saying bad things about you every day since then. We must put it all behind us now and be a united team, yes?”

Jorge raised an eyebrow. “But I am a proud Italian, I am-a not sure if I can accept your fake apology.”

“Oh, dear Vale, it is not fake. Secretly I want to be you and be the most popular rider in the world. I am jealous of how much people love and admire you.”

Jorge glared at him, trying to focus on his blurred guest. “But it is I who is the fake, my dear team mate. I made up all the accusations about you and Marc-a last year to make you both lose-a concentration. But it didn’t work-a. It just made you both stronger and I looked like a fool-a.”

Iannone glared this time. “I want to apologise for being a rude and unbearable team mate, yes? How could I treat such a talented rider and attractive man in such a dishonourable way?”

“Attractive man?” Jorge smirked. “You think he’s attractive?”

“Well, why not? I am not the only one who does.”

“Well, my dear team mate, as I am well-known to be a gay Italian, I will—” Before Jorge could say something really extreme, his injured leg gave a twinge and he winced.

“What’s the matter? Did I cause that in the crash?”

Jorge nodded and rubbed the painful muscle. As they were sitting close on the sofa, Iannone put the Majorcan’s leg on his lap and massaged it.

“So sorry,” he said sadly. “I’m so sorry I caused the accident today.” He concentrated on Jorge’s leg but after a minute or too he looked up. “So, what did you think of what I said? Think you’d say that to Vale?” He laughed.

“Not in a million years but I sure like my leg being massaged.” Before Jorge could stop himself, he said, “So you’ve got a big hard on for Vale, yes?”

“Is it that obvious?” Iannone blushed like a tomato.

Jorge realised the way the Italian was rubbing his leg was giving him a hard on too, in his drunken state. _Awkward! But there’s one way I could deal with it, if I dare. Of course I always dare, I am a racing driver!_ He sat up proudly.

“Erm—so, Andrea, you ‘ave a big ‘ard on for me?” he said in Valentino’s voice, which he’d perfected imitating after spending so many years at Yamaha with him. So many times he’d used it to send mechanics scurrying to work on the wrong bike, just to amuse himself. 

He hadn’t used this perfect voice earlier but now it made Iannone’s hands on his leg pause and then get more frantic. “It seems I've-a got a big ‘ard on for you, too.” He nodded towards it and the Italian’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “And I ‘ave a terrible injury caused by you. ’Owa can you make-a me feel better?”

Iannone’s fingers walked up Jorge’s leg towards the bulge and he remembered the correct, Spanish voice. “Oh Valentino, I make you come, yes? As the proud Majorcan man I am.”

Jorge grinned. _This is extreme self-love—someone pretending to be me doing me._

His trousers were the loose type so as not to put pressure on his injuries, so pretty easy to access and Iannone’s hand wriggled into them. Without any warning, he gripped Jorge’s cock and pumped it vigorously, making the Majorcan arch towards the hand and gasp, forgetting the pain in his leg.

“Stop-a. I do it to you too.” He just about remembered to use Valentino’s voice. He couldn’t resist the idea of two Jorges doing it to each other and undid Iannone-Jorge’s jeans, grabbing him roughly and making him groan.

They only just fitted on the sofa together and lay there stroking each other until their hands grew sticky and hot and they shuddered to a halt, panting.

“Very, very good-a. You make-a me come and I make-a you come.” Jorge thought how brilliant his impression was, and hoped Iannone would say something in his voice.

“I make you come, Valentino, yes?” he said with a wink. “A special Majorcan coming.” They both giggled.

Someone banged on the door. “Eh, Jorge, you okay after today-a? I come-a to check.” It was Valentino.

The two conspirators on the sofa froze, then burst into more giggles but silent this time.

“What shall I do? He mustn’t see me here,” whispered Iannone, fastening his jeans. “Or can we invite him to join us?”

“No, we can’t! Go and hide somewhere.” Jorge wiped his hand on the Italian then adjusted his own trousers.

“Hey! My t-shirt!”

“Borrow one of mine. Go! I’ll get rid of him.” He waited a few minutes til Iannone had gone into one of the other rooms, then hobbled to the door to see Valentino outside hopping about impatiently.

“You take-a your time to answer the door,” he said. “What-a you doing in there, having sex or something?”

**Author's Note:**

> Just because Lorenzo said that Iannone went round to see him the night after the race to apologise. All the innocent things these guys say in real life which we read double meanings into…


End file.
